Page 19 of Get Me to the Starting Line
Adam recovers first, scooping Levi up and zooming him like an airplane around the living room.
“What the hell?” Paige says, still holding her chest as she walks over to us.
“Family dinner!” Isabel says cheerfully.
Paige’s grimace is one for the books. “You couldn’t text us?”
“What fun would that be?” I say. I’ve got Isabel’s back on this one.
My sister shakes her head. “Not as much fun as I would have had if you guys weren’t here,” she mumbles.
“Gross, that’s my brother.” Isabel squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the image.
“Agreed,” I say with a laugh.
“Right, like you don’t love it when I give you nitty-gritty details.”
“About the sex in general, not specifically about you! Besides, who else am I supposed to live vicariously through?”
Paige gestures to Isabel. “How about someone not related by blood?”
Isabel is already shaking her head, her mouth full of food. “Uh-uh,” she says around her mouthful. “I’ve sworn off men.”
“That’s because the men you interact with work at your law firm and lawyers are duds,” Paige insists.
“Duds?” comes a deep voice from behind her. She winces.
“Hey, didn’t see you there, Tom,” she says, turning around and hugging her future father-in-law. Thomas, Adam’s dad, is a lawyer. Paige is the only one who gets away with calling him Tom. I don’t think even Maggie calls him Tom.
“Just the single ones,” Paige recovers. He buys it because Thomas is putty in Paige’s hands. When Paige came into Adam’s life, his relationship with his father was strained. Only my sister could single-handedly fix the rift between them.
“Hello, Leah, nice to see you,” he greets me, giving Isabel a peck on the cheek.
“Hey, Thomas.”
“Where’s my grandson?” he asks. He looks around for Levi before I gesture outside, where Adam has taken him and the dogs. Thomas jogs out to join them. I count my lucky stars he interrupted the sex conversation.
Zero. I have zero lucky stars.
“Well, fear not,” Paige says, not missing a beat. “I work with a whole hockey team you could start dating. I can attest that hockey players”—she gestures to Adam suggestively—“are the best lovers.”
Both Isabel and I groan at the same time.
Hockey players are way too primordial cavemen, “me alpha male,” for my liking. The last few guys I dated, including Ian, were lanky science boys. I wouldn’t even know where to start with a hockey player.
Waterrollsdownmyback and chest as I stand under the freezing cold shower. It’s doing nothing to quell the heat still coursing through me. I give up the fight and grip my cock in my hand.
The dreams left me insatiable last night, vivid and so real. I woke up with the most painful hard-on I’ve had in years, and it won’t go away. I swore I wouldn’t jack off thinking of a woman who I’ve never had a real conversation with and who may actively hate me. Probably.
And who I’m not really sure I like either. She’s fucking stubborn and infuriating as hell. And that temper.
An image appears of Leah bent over in front of me, my hands on her luscious hips as I pound into her.
Damn.
I’m immune to the effects of the cold water, and I see stars when I come. My head feels a little clearer and I try to shake the images away, scrubbing at my skin and focusing on the way the rivulets of water trace my tattoos.
Not many people know I have them. I’m highly cautious when I change and mostly wear long-sleeved shirts. The black ink whirls up my left arm, covering it in a mosaic of overlapping wings and flowers. It’s a stunning piece of art, but I keep it secret so I can keep it safe.
